Count Your Teeth

—Day 8— Poor little Glam. Glam sat slouched against the side of the bed, his arms curled loosely in his lap. The shackles at his wrists bore down like lead weights, and his head bowed beneath the yoke around his neck. Repeatedly softened by water, and never having the chance to dry properly, his skin was chaffed and calloused by the rough leather. He gazed blearily down at the bowl of his pelvis, noting the way his hip bones stood out in sharp relief. Aren't you hungry? Who said that? Ches? But no, that couldn't be. Ches was all the way on the other side of the room, fussing with the electric kettle by the generator. He tried to lift his head to watch but only made it as far as the mattress before dropping it down at a funny angle. The horizon tilted with him. Stray droplets of water from his last bath slid off the tips of his bangs and into his eyes, reducing the world to a watercolor shitsmear. They rolled down his cheeks like tears. Fatigue filled the hollows left by his hunger, smothering his sense of reality and dulling his mind. The clinking of dishware reminded Glam of home—silver cutlery and fine china, the chime of mother's champagne flute. But then Ches swore loudly, and Glam was right back here again. If you don't eat something, you'll die. But he wanted to die. Aw, it's not all bad, the boy known as Sebastian said as he swung his legs in their pleated suit pants playfully over the mattress's edge. Father would never have allowed such behavior, but Father wasn't here anymore. It was just the two of them, and they'd have to learn to get along if they hoped to survive this. After all, he's not doing anything you don't already want. Since the day with the ruler, Ches had raped Glam two more times. Wait, no. Could he even call it "rape" anymore? He hadn't said "no" to it. Hadn't resisted it. You'd liked it, Sebastian reminded him. His chest ached around the empty pit where his heart had been. Each time with Ches scraped out something from even deeper inside him, penetrating him to the core and dragging him down to new lows. He felt husked, cleaned out of any evidence of his former self. Who remained was still being born. He closed his eyes and let his head roll on Ches's thigh. When had he gotten here? There was a hand petting his hair and gentle words being spoken from above: "Poor little Glam." Ches turned his face upward, tutting as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Aren't you hungry?" Glam cracked open his eyes. A tepid smile threaded its way across Ches's face when their eyes met. "I brought you something warm to eat. You'll like it." He held up a chipped bowl with a spoon in it. The smell of cinnamon and brown sugar swirled into Glam's nose, and his stomach thrashed angrily. Angry for having been denied sustenance for so long, angry for him having ever turned his nose up at Roft's home cooking. He breathed in deeply. Never had a simple bowl of oatmeal smelled so appetizing. Glam looked away. "What's the matter, babe? Never had the instant kind before?" Ches stirred the oatmeal, and a fresh burst of artificial sweetness wafted from its surface. Nibbling a small spoonful, he tilted his head and smacked his lips. "Guess it could use a little more salt." He leaned over and glided a finger up Glam's side, counting each individual rib. "Please try and eat this time." He then took a moment to rotate the barbell piercings, first on his left nipple and then the right. It was something he did routinely, assisting the healing process. Glam didn't even have the energy to flinch. "If you don't eat something, you'll die." Another reserve of tears glistened at the corners of Glam's eyes. Why did Ches have to sound so concerned about him now? It wasn't fair. After all he'd done, taking and taking from him until there was nothing left, why couldn't he just let him die? At least then he could finally be free from his suffering, free from the humiliation that awaited him outside these walls. There was nothing left for him out there anymore. The damning videotape had seen to that. Death was the only way out, and while the process hurt for now, he knew it would eventually stop. Everything would finally stop. Ches looped the collar's chain around his fingers and drew Glam up until he could whisper sweetly in his ear, his breath smelling of cinnamon: "If you don't eat something right now, babe...I'm going to shove this spoon so far up your ass, you'll be chewing metal for a week. I've put in too much goddamn work to have you keel over on me now, you ungrateful, arrogant, sniveling, little faggot. You're not impressing anyone, so drop the martyr act, or I'll cut off that useless fucking tongue of yours and start using it to wipe my ass." He drew back, that placid smile fixed in place. "Do I make myself clear?" Glam's heart had all but stopped beating and his bowels threatened to loosen on him, as he gaped in wide-eyed terror at Ches. That smile was warm and gentle, but it had fangs. Knowing Ches, he'd meant every word of it. Suddenly the idea of dying didn't seem as painless as he'd once thought, not when Ches could make his last days even more of a living hell. Fear sobered him up as swiftly as if he'd been doused in cold water, and he blinked back into himself. He'd have to endure this; he had no other choice. He looked at the bowl in Ches's hand and the unassuming lump of oatmeal that smelled as satisfying as a four-course meal. Do it, Sebastian whispered in his ear. Do it and maybe you'll get something nice in reward. As though getting to live wasn’t reward enough. It seldom was these days. At last, the will to survive trumped his death wish, and as the final pillar of his pride shuddered and collapsed in a cloud of dust, he shakily reached for the bowl. But at the last second, Ches lifted it away again. "Not so fast." He stopped Glam with the spoon against his forehead. "Let's give your tongue a little warm-up first." His lips curled in a mischievous grin. "Blow me," he said, tapping him lightly. "Suck my dick, and then you get to eat." Glam blinked, not understanding. "Consider it your appetizer." Ches laughed at his own joke, wrestling down the front of his pants and fishing out his cock. It already stood at half-mast, its tip bobbing in the air like a wolf's snout eagerly sniffing out prey. Balancing the bowl in one hand, he gripped his dick with the other, gave it a little shake, and smacked it playfully against Glam's face. "C'mon, then. It ain't gonna suck itself." A sticky string of precum clung to his cheek. Glam's brain was still processing what Ches had said. Revulsion curdled in his stomach at what he was being asked to do. Ches's penis? In his mouth? He'd never even imagined—no, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't. He balled his hands into fists on his knees, ready to beg for his food rather than resort to that. The sight of it was frightening enough. So unlike his own, with its uncircumcised hood, veiny and thick shaft, and the bush of dark pubic hair at its base. And the smell—Ches's dick smelled pungent and distinctly not clean, musky with sweat in a way that stung his sinuses. A fresh wave of saliva flooded his mouth, not out of the promise of food but out of disgust. His stomach, however, couldn't tell the difference, and it rumbled in shameful expectation. See? You want it, Sebastian urged him on. Stop acting like you don't. He shook his head at the silent betrayal, but when he looked up, Ches was waiting patiently, holding the bowl of oatmeal up like a prize. His brow pleated in a flash of consternation as he eyed the penis staring him in the face. The foreskin had peeled back some to reveal a shiny, ruddy bulb, a drop of precum glistening at its slit. Cautiously, he raised his hands and closed them around Ches's cock. Ches coughed out a chuckle, as though impressed that Glam had actually taken him up on the dare. As though his little slave had any choice. He settled back comfortably on one hand, watching Glam with open curiosity as to what he would do next. What would he do next? Glam was just as unsure. This wasn't exactly something he had any experience with. So while looking to Ches in case, by some miracle, he might change his mind at the last minute, Glam peeked out his tongue and gave Ches's cock a tentative lick. Salty. It was salty and a little...ripe. He tried and failed to hide his grimace. That earned him a sharp slap up the backside of the head. "Hey, you don't exactly taste like strawberries yourself." Ches spooned some oatmeal into his mouth and gave an exaggerated moan of contentment. "Mm-mmm. Better get on with it, Glam. Unless you'd rather spend the evening eating cock instead." Humiliation burned at the tips of his ears. Pushing aside his disgust, he opened his mouth wide and rested Ches's cock on top of his tongue. It had filled out some, and Glam tried to think of anything else other than semen as it oozed, bitter and slimy, onto his tongue. To his surprise, his mouth began to water more. Ignoring the implication, he found it was a blessing in disguise, helping to dilute the piquant flavor of cock until he could only taste his own saliva. Common sense told him to keep his teeth clear of the dick in his mouth, and he experimented with curling his lips over them until he'd found a comfortable position where only his lips made contact with the shaft—just as he recalled Ches doing for him. The memory sent a scandalous flash of excitement darting down the center of his stomach to his groin, and he squirmed where he knelt. How much was secondhand knowledge and how much was instinct—although what kind of instinct could possibly prepare someone for sucking cock?—Glam didn't know. But it was easy enough to slide the cock in and out of his mouth, and he did this a few times, thankful that this was all there was to it. Maybe this wasn't so hard after all. A bored yawn from overhead told him otherwise. Glam scoured his brain for some inspiration, inevitably falling back on what Ches had done to him last time. It had felt incredible, a tugging, enveloped sensation, like Ches was trying to drink him down. Locking his lips more firmly around the girth, Glam sucked in his cheeks. "Fuck..." Ches's breathy grunt drew his eyes upward. He must've been doing something right, because Ches looked different. His face was relaxed, at peace and free of the harshness that usually underlined his features, brows peaked in a woeful point as though he were puzzling over some difficult musical composition. As they said, music soothes the savage beast. The thought that Glam had reduced him to this sent a peculiar blush of pride swelling through his breast. Emboldened by the effect he was having, he redoubled his efforts. Clumsy but well-intentioned, he drove Ches's cock into his mouth faster, deeper, trying to cram in as much as he could. But the moment the head bumped against the back of his throat, he could feel his gag reflex kicking in, and his nose stung with tears. So he backed off with a frustrated huff to suckle at the tip. His tongue slipped along the underside then wormed between the foreskin and glans. Anything he could think of to get Ches off sooner. His hands weren't idle either. They moved in time with his mouth so that he could wrap the full length of Ches's cock in warmth and friction. The tiny flicker of resistance, the one that still yearned for power in this hopeless situation, hissed at him to claw, wring, bite down—that would show him! But no, he knew by now that power wasn't just found in coercion. Violence could only take him so far. Force was short-lived. But to make his adversary putty in his hands... He thought to the first time he'd begged Ches for sex and was reminded of the thrill of power he'd experienced from it. That's right, Glam. There are much easier ways to survive this. He could practically feel another pair of hands, dainty and well-manicured, gliding over his own, his two selves working in unison—to pleasure Ches. The act came with its own enticing brand of agency, and there was the undeniable allure of seeing how he could incite Ches's reactions all on his own, with no more than a twirl of his tongue or squeeze of his fingers. Just look at what you can do to him. Ches was utterly undone, head rolling loose and eyes unfocused, as much a slave to the blow job as Glam, even on his knees, was master in delivering it. Each technique garnered him a different response, and Glam wanted to witness the full breadth of Ches's pleasure. He liked being the one in control for once. At first, he'd been concerned about keeping the blow job neat and quiet, but as he grew bolder, egged on by the sounds of approval that dripped into his ears like honey and an encouraging hand on his head—petting him like the good boy he was—he allowed the excess drool to spill from his bottom lip. A slight scratch of teeth in his haste. Sloppy, messy, wholly lost to the experience, his stifled moans of passion elicited the same in Ches. For being such a motormouth and dirty-talker, Ches was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, letting the lewd slurping and squelching from Glam's mouth speak enough for the both of them. He gyrated his hips as he bit his bottom lip, breath coming faster, more harried. A blush tinging the crests of his cheeks, nostrils flaring. The cords in his neck standing out suddenly. Glam was so taken by all the signs, trying to figure out what they meant, that he almost gagged when he felt Ches's cock swell uncomfortably thick in his mouth. He gave a muffled shout of surprise, afraid that his jaw would lock up around it and— "Move! I'm gonna cum!" Ches gritted out before shoving Glam off of him. He tumbled back on the floor but turned to look at Ches, wanting desperately to see the fruits of his labor at last manifest. Ches was jerking himself off feverishly, one hand still holding the bowl, his face contorted around the mounting climax. Glam panted at the sight, the second heart in his cock pounding. Pounding in satisfaction of a job well done, and now in anticipation of its reward. It was right there, right in front of him, Ches cumming with a long, indulgent groan that was of Glam's own making. Breathtaking. But Glam's rapture soon turned to horror, as Ches emptied his load straight into the bowl of oatmeal. Strips of white cum painted its surface while Ches curled over the bowl, stroking every last drop of his seed into Glam's meal. He sat for a few uninterrupted seconds, catching his breath, then wiped his brow and shot him an approving grin. "Shit, Glam. You're pretty fucking good." He picked up the spoon and calmly began to stir his cum into the oatmeal. It stretched into thin, white lines before spiraling away. "I knew your tongue could be good for something. You're a natural cocksucker. Fuck." He gave another pleased shake of his head. Flinging away the spoon with a clatter, he yanked Glam close by his collar and shoved the bowl under his nose. "There. Seasoned just the way you like it, Your Highness.” Glam's vision swam as he looked from the ruined bowl of food up to Ches's face. A hand came up to pet him gently before grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of his head. Glam barely had time to let out a crestfallen sob, before his face was shoved down into the bowl. "Now eat." For a moment, he didn't move. Then gradually, the snuffled, half-choked sounds of Glam's messy feeding filled the air. Ches chuckled cruelly above him. "Nasty." —Day 10— As Glam's stomach became reacquainted with real food, Ches brought him a bag of oranges. His eyes watered, the smell of citrus was so clean. —Day 11— Ches rushed in, all excitement and bright eyes, eager to show off his latest song on the acoustic guitar. He spent the evening playing songs, old and new, for Glam, before strapping him down and piercing his left ear. Twice. —Day 15— After standing in front of the mirror for hours on end, Glam smashed his forehead into it, sending it shattering into the sink. A particularly large shard made an effective blade, and he'd just put it to his wrist before Ches managed to intervene. "Don't scare me like that." Ches sniffled through tears as he held him. —Day 16— The ruler came out again for his selfishness. This time, Glam was hung from the meat hook as he was whipped. —Day 17— It rained all day. —Day 19— Ches caught Glam picking at his manacles, so he stuck metal pins beneath his fingernails until Glam screamed himself hoarse. He then had him recite his lessons, and for every word he stumbled on, the pins were driven in even deeper. By the end of the session, Glam had no voice left, and his fingernails were dark with bruises. He couldn't pick up anything for days and had to be hand-fed. —Day 26— Glam was down to his last orange, and Ches showed no signs of returning. —Day 27— Dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. —Day 29— Glam watched a butterfly beat itself uselessly against the window, trying to get in. —Day 30— The lightbulb popped. —Day 33— It had taken nearly an hour to fill the bathtub and countless trips back and forth, painstakingly filling the small kettle with water from the sink, bringing it to a boil, then pouring it into the tub. Ches had idled on the bed in the meantime, his guitar resting on his chest as he plucked away at some new tune. The dishes from lunch were still soaking in the sink. He'd have to get to them later. A bottle of dish soap now sat alongside the hand soap. Orange-scented, because that was what Glam said when Ches had asked for his preference. Beside them was Glam's set of toiletries: toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb all neatly laid out in a row. The mirror had been taped back together in a haphazard fashion, making a Picasso portrait of the world: a dozen fractured Glams looking back at him. Once the bath was drawn, Ches placed the guitar aside and ordered Glam to step in. Glam now sat, knees tucked up, in the middle of the tub with Ches naked at his back, working up a lather with the rag and a fresh bar of soap he'd brought just for the occasion. Its scent reminded Glam of home, but he didn't bring that up. Ches didn't like it when he talked about his old home, especially now that he was settling into his new one so nicely. He looked over at the bedsheet and pillowcase strung up in the corner of the room. The bloodstains hadn't completely washed out, but they'd lightened considerably. The makings of a kitchen were coming together well: hot plate, kettle, a handful of mismatched dishware. Dry goods, mainly of the ready-made variety, filled what constituted Glam's pantry—an empty plastic storage bin that had been turned on its side—and ratty towels and rags were stacked on top. The rag in Ches's hand ran over a fresh gash on the back of his ribs, and he hissed. "Sorry about that, babe," Ches mumbled, but he continued without changing course. Glam didn't say anything the next time he passed over the same spot. He'd learned by now that it was pointless to complain. He had learned many such useful things in the past month. For instance, he'd learned how to prepare simple meals by himself—spaghetti and PB&J sandwiches being the popular go-tos. He wasn't particularly good at it, but he found that he had an affinity for cooking, one that he hoped to explore more in the future. He'd also memorized the number of steps Ches took to descend the stairs. Fifteen. Fifteen clanging steps that announced the arrival of his tormentor. The initial fear he'd felt at the noise had dimmed to a tense apprehension. He never knew what Ches would do to him once he was here, and the uncertainty kept him on his toes. Some days were manageable, enjoyable even, like today: a shared meal, a round in bed, followed by a bath. Some days—some days were awful. He curled his fingers to look at his nails. Even after so long, the bruises hadn't faded, and he was beginning to suspect that they never would. But at least they'd stopped hurting. He tried to imagine playing the violin again with darkened fingernails. Or for that matter, the guitar. "What ever happened to the band?" Ches's hand paused. Glam hadn't brought up anything about the outside world for weeks, and the question seemed to catch him by surprise. "We still perform," he finally answered. "Have another gig coming up this Friday, actually. And in case you're wondering, Lordy and Bob—" Glam's ears perked up at the names of his former bandmates. "—they don't ask about you." Cruel glee coiled around his words. "They forgot about you in under a week once they found a replacement. It wasn't all that hard. Bob always did say guitarists are way easy to find." Little islands of soap suds dashed apart against Glam's thighs as Ches shrugged. "The new guy's fine. I mean, he doesn't have what you do. But it's good enough. I guess." As he resumed his scrubbing, running the rag up Glam's nape to his hairline, Glam rested his head on his knees. His eyes slid shut. They'd already forgotten about him. How long would it be before his family did? The teachers at the conservatory? Anyone he'd ever known? With enough time, it would be like he never existed at all, nothing but a Sebastian-shaped hole preserved in family portraits that would fade with time. We once had a son, they'd say. He disappeared one day, they'd say. His room would be emptied, the scant personal belongings that had once marked his identity retired to storage. Maybe even thrown out. Would his father keep his trophies? He'd been so proud of them before, his musical legacy forever molded in gold-plated metal and fancy embossed placards. Now they seemed flimsy. Insubstantial. Not much of a legacy, he had to admit. Then again, playing classical music had never been an honest expression of himself. It had simply been a role he performed, all for the sake of his father's approval. Heavy metal, however, had been where his soul came alive. It spoke to him with its lyrics, moved him with its rhythm, enlivened him with its spirit. Playing the guitar had been one of the few things that felt right in his young life, and an acute yearning warmed his heart as he thought back to his time on stage. It had been brief, but it had been thrilling, exhilarating. Unforgettable. He sighed wistfully. Ches suddenly pulled him back against his chest, tilting his head up so that he was forced to look into his eyes. He quirked a brow. "What was that for?" There was no anger in his voice, just a keen intensity. Glam blushed, trying to avert his eyes, but Ches's grip on his chin was firm. "I just—I miss it. The band, I mean. I miss playing." Ches replied with a noncommittal hum. The reverberation traveled through Glam's ribs so that he vibrated with the sound. Fingers tunneled through his blond locks to massage his scalp just the way Glam liked, as Ches mused. "Yeah, you were pretty incredible on the guitar. Still haven't heard anyone play as well as you did." His other hand wandered down Glam's front, past his belly to play idly with his dick. "You've got a real gift, Glam." He kissed the words against his temple. "I wouldn't want you to lose that." Glam closed and opened his legs as he squirmed beneath the attention, suppressing a moan. Waves formed in the bathwater, and the sound of their sloshing echoed in the air around them. He slouched boneless against Ches's chest as he was touched, hands curling over the lip of the tub for leverage. "Honestly, I miss playing with you too. Sure, we've had a lot of fun these days—" He squeezed Glam's cock for emphasis as it plumped up in his hand. "—but your music? Now that's something I'd want to hear again." He made a loose circle with forefinger and thumb and began to stroke him beneath the water as he continued. "It's like nothing else. The first time you touched those strings, I knew you had something special. I might rock the vocals, but, man—you're the one that can really make that guitar sing." Glam gave a high, melodic gasp. "Do you want to do it again?" "Yes," he panted, not sure what exactly he was agreeing to—the offer to play guitar or the hand job. "Please." It was getting hard to think straight, his brain addled by heat and lust. And when he felt something hard prodding him from behind, his hips instinctively rubbed back against it in silent appeal. "Yeah, I bet you'd like that." How Ches could sound so calm even when his erection slipped beneath Glam's balls, thick and intimidating in all the right ways, was beyond him. "I'll see about getting your guitar tomorrow. I've got somewhere to be tonight." His hand slipped away, patting Glam's thigh in a signal for him to sit up, before he stepped gingerly out of the tub and went to retrieve a towel. Glam's heart sank as he watched him go, the promise of pleasure going with him. He drifted forward to the edge of the tub and folded his arms over its edge, watching Ches close the towel around his waist. Rolling his hips, he absentmindedly glided the underside of his dick along the smooth porcelain. It'd only been a few hours, but he wanted desperately to cum again. However, Ches had made his instruction clear: he wasn't to touch himself without Ches's permission. If he left now, it'd mean another night left having to suffer unattended. He tried to chalk up the pang in his chest to the more practical consequences of Ches's leaving—loneliness, fear, sexual frustration. But there was also a whisper of something else there that he wasn't confident enough to put into words. Something that resembled... Longing. "Where do you go when you’re not here?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. Ches was stepping into his pant legs when he paused. "You're just full of questions today, aren't you." Shimmying his jeans up and over his bare hips, he answered over his shoulder, "The conservatory. Can't let my free tuition go to waste, right?" That made sense. Glam had been gradually sketching out the pattern of Ches's comings and goings. He had only a loose grasp of the date, having never kept track of the passing days in any precise way. But Ches's absences tended to align with the school schedule he remembered. Weekdays were when he would typically be gone for the longest stretches of time; weekends usually meant they spent full days together. Band practice and whatever else Ches got up to outside these four walls, however, interrupted the pattern, so Glam could only hazard a guess. He scratched at the latest piercing that decorated his upper earlobe. "And today is—" "Tuesday. So?" "So you don't have any lessons until tomorrow afternoon." Ches mm-hmed his agreement. "So why do you have to go tonight?" He kept his eyes on the floor as he asked, watching a small droplet of water soak into the concrete. He didn't realize Ches was standing by the tub until he felt a hand close over his. "You really are full of questions." Ches's grip turned harsh, digging his nails into the back of Glam's hand as he leaned over the tub's edge, right in Glam's face. A smile hooked a corner of his mouth but never reached his eyes. "Why so curious?" Glam tried to tug his hand free, cowering beneath that look. He could never be certain what it meant. "I-I'm not. I mean, I'm just—" He was cut off by a hiss of pain as Ches entwined their fingers and bent Glam's hand backward. "You're just what? Horny? Afraid I'll leave you with a stiffy all night?" His gaze flicked down meaningfully to Glam's secret hidden under the soap suds. "If you wanted some help, Glam, all you had to do was ask." He climbed into the bathtub, not caring that his pants got soaked as he knelt between Glam's thighs. Glam was shoved up against the opposite side, head falling back to bare his collared neck to Ches's demand. The transformation was so sudden, Glam's head spun at the duality of Ches's advances: one second, achingly distant; the next, overwhelmingly here. "N-no." Yes. "I j-just wanted to know. Where you go." I'll miss you. "What you do." "Don't think about that," Ches hissed, reaching into the water to grab Glam's cock. It gave an eager leap in his hand. "You don't ever have to think about that. I'm here right now, with you. And that's all that matters, okay?" Was that desperation Glam heard in his voice? Breathing the words against his lips as though he were trying to convince himself as much as Glam. "I'm right here," he said again. "Don't think about anything but me, and I'll promise not to think about anything but you." Whatever else Glam wanted to ask went unheard, swallowed down in an open-mouthed kiss. Water splashed over the tub's sides as the two closed the distance. —Day 36— Ches was only a little late on his promise, but he eventually brought down Glam's guitar. It was terribly out of tune. —Day 41— Glam had gotten very good at playing with his chains on. —Day 43— A guitar string broke, and Ches whipped Glam with it until he bled. —Day 46— He brought him a replacement. —Day 50— Glam felt the first chill of fall while standing beneath the window. The glass was thin, and a draft seeped down the wall where his hands were braced against it. The extra length of chain rattled with every thrust of Ches's hips as he railed him from behind. "Would you look at that moon, Glam?" Ches huffed. His hands blazed where they gripped his hips. "Fucking beautiful." Glam nodded weakly, trying hard to stay upright beneath the assault. His toes were ice. "Y-yeah," he said in agreement, even as his head hung loosely between his shoulders. He looked at the chain wound around his ankle. "Yeah. Beautiful." —Day 61— A cold snap settled in, the first of the season. —Day 63— Ches brought down a blanket for the bed. It was a little too short to reach Glam's feet, and on the nights Ches wasn't there to warm him, he slept curled up in a ball. —Day 90— "What did you say this was for?" Glam eyed the small candy in his hand. It was pink and triangular with rounded edges. It didn't look like any candy he'd seen before. "Three-month anniversary, babe!" Ches beamed, popping his own candy into his mouth. "Thought we could celebrate with a little something special." He pulled a face as he chewed on the tart treat, before swallowing it down quickly. "C'mon! We gotta take them at the same time!" Sitting cross-legged in front of Ches on the bed, Glam was still looking dubiously at his candy, before Ches reached over and shoved it into his mouth. He clamped a hand over Glam's lips until he'd chewed and swallowed obediently. Nodding, Ches sat back with a satisfied, "And now we wait." "Wait for what?" "You'll see." Not the most reassuring reply, but the way Ches casually scooped up his guitar told Glam he had little reason to worry. So he settled in place, content to listen to Ches strum out a new riff they'd been working on. It needed a little work on that last A chord, and at his gentle direction, Ches altered the fingering until he'd come across something they were both happy with. Glam would never get to hear their collaborations play out on the stage, but he contented himself with watching their songwriting come together through Ches's skilled hands. He had gotten very good at giving guidance. The days they passed like this, going over feedback from the band and making further adjustments, were some of Glam's favorite. Ches likened him to WhoAreThoseFreaksOnStage?'s own personal phantom—you know, like the one from the musical?—the secret genius behind the band's hit songs. Glam reminded him that he hadn't seen the musical, and so Ches spent the rest of the evening reciting it to him in astounding detail—he'd already gotten his hands on a bootleg copy—and even managed to recreate some of the more memorable songs on the guitar. The lyrics he didn't know, he fudged, and any gaps in the plot were filled with his own brand of off-color humor. By the opening of act two, Glam's head had dropped to the mattress and refused to lift again. "Wait, wait, wait. He shows up at the mask—masquer—party. And no one recognizes him?" He shook his head with a giggle, feeling his brain slosh against the walls of his skull. "No way. I don't buy it." "He does! And it's true!" Ches insisted from somewhere on the floor. He'd since slid off the side of the bed, and only his feet were visible from over the edge. His toes wiggled in the air through the holes in his socks. Ches stuck his hand straight up, a finger raised elegantly in the air to make his point. It made a wide, slow circle that Glam watched with fascination, the afterimages blurring into one continuous loop. "See, he's got this wicked skull mask on. Red cape. The works." "The Red Death?" "Whatever, nerd. Anyway, he crashes that party so hard, and everyone's all, 'Oh, noooo,' and he's all, 'Play my opera, bitch.' So everyone's running around, trying to figure out what to do and—ba-boom." A medley of chords filled the air. "Wishing you were somehow here agaaaaaain!" He broke out into song—like really broke—his falsetto voice failing to hit the high notes, before tumbling up and down the scales in a jumbling mess. He sounded a lot like a crowing rooster. Glam burst out laughing, curling onto his side and clutching the pillow to his chest. Somewhere Ches was scolding him for mocking an artiste. That just made Glam laugh even harder, tears streaming down his face. God, Ches was hilarious. He’d almost forgotten what a hoot he was. Guess it was easy to forget when—nah-uh-uh, best not to go there. Go where, he wondered. There was nowhere he needed to go, not when he had everything he needed right here. He felt light, carefree, buoyed hiiiiiigh above any nasty little thoughts that threatened to spoil his good mood. What was there to even worry about, especially when everything was so perfectly, wonderfully fine? He was still lying on his side, smile pressed into the linens as he gazed ahead. Everything sparkled at the edges. Twinkling like the world had been painted in a technicolor starscape. Ches's feet slipped down, and after a little maneuvering, his head peeked up from over the edge of the bed. He looked at Glam, smiling. "What? What is it?" Glam smiled back—he couldn't seem to stop smiling—and his teeth chattered when a peculiar chill zipped through him, making his hair stand on end. "You're laughing." "Mmyeah, so?" "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before." Ches propped his head up on one hand, looking at Glam like he was loony. Like he was in love with him. A weak chuckle snuck out of Glam, and he nuzzled the sheets again. It felt nice. Really, really nice. He kept running his hand back and forth across the sheets which had taken on the quality of fine silk rather than tatty polyester. His whole body tingled like a plucked cord, every sense perfectly attuned to the vibrations of the world. Ches was reaching across the bed for him. Everything emitted light and music, and Glam was caught up in the symphony as it sang through him, stunning and brilliant—magnificent. Ches had once talked of magic, and now Glam felt it in every touch, every caress of their tongues. He cried tears of joy as he kissed Ches, awash in a sense of utter completeness, and when they joined, they became a song, one that began with a gasp and ended with their souls on each other's lips. Suddenly, the linens had become bare skin, and he was running his hand up and down Ches's back, as he lay on top of him. "You should laugh more often." Ches was pressing kisses into this chest. "It's beautiful." His heart stumbled in its frantic gait. He readjusted his hold around Ches's shoulders, watching the fireworks display of color go off in the periphery of his vision, a thousand winding fractals against a darkened sky. "You're beautiful." —Day 110— The headboard quaked beneath Glam, threatening to rattle apart at the joints. He gripped it in both hands to keep from toppling right over the edge of it. The chain that tethered his collar to the little trapdoor had only a few inches of slack, and with his head forced down lower than his chest, blood pounded in his ears. Made it hard to think. Served him right. He shouldn't have done that. He knew he wasn't supposed to do it, yet he'd done it anyway. But he couldn't help it. He hadn't gotten off in days. Ches had been furious this morning when he'd caught Glam jerking off into one of his spare T-shirts, had stormed right in and snatched it out of his hands before backhanding him across the face while he sobbed. Then he'd wound the chain tighter than ever before. All things considered, Glam's punishment was pretty light. It could've been a lot worse. At least he hadn't brought out the ruler again. Or the pins. Or the meat hook. He moaned a rhythmic "ah, ah, ah" as he was fucked from behind, Ches's cock driving into him with brutal efficiency. The headboard dug into his chest and Ches's belt buckle smacked him in the balls with each thrust. He wouldn't grant Glam a reach-around this time—and Glam didn't expect one—so his cock was left to weep its desire onto the same pillow he'd be sleeping on later. Ches was unusually quiet today, doing without his usual taunts and belittling jeers. He must've really been angry. Still, the stern brevity of today's session gave Glam reason to think that maybe something was off. After he'd finished, hips stuttering as he emptied his seed into him, Ches finally allowed Glam to breathe, loosening the chain enough to pull him down from over the headboard until he was lying flat on the mattress. There, he was left to catch his breath and murmur his gratitude as Ches tucked himself away and readjusted his clothing. He scrubbed a hand through his disheveled hair. Glam was still recovering when Ches hauled him upright. His head rolled against Ches's shoulder as he mumbled another apology. "Shut up," Ches snapped, taking out a strip of cloth from his pocket and ordering Glam to kneel. Glam did so without question. "Glam," he started, unfolding the cloth and rubbing it with his fingers. He wet his lips, his voice surprisingly small. "Glam, I need you to do something for me." Anything, Glam thought. Meeting his eyes for a moment, he looked away again. Glam had never seen him so nervous. He gestured for Glam to lower his head then lifted the cloth to lay it across his eyes. "Ches, what's this ab—" Glam started to ask, confused, as the blindfold fell into place and the world went black. "We're going to have a visitor tonight." His heart lurched high in his throat. "V-visitor?" A million questions raced through his mind, but he held his tongue. "That's right. So I'm going to need you to be on your best behavior." Ches's fingers paused briefly at the back of Glam's head before tying off the knot snugly. "Keep this on and don't say or do anything until you're told to. Got it?" Glam nodded even as his heart pounded a mile a minute. "Good." There was a tender kiss pressed to his lips, and then he felt Ches rest his forehead against his. It wobbled side to side. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach up and hold him. Ches sighed. For a while, he didn't say anything else, just sat there with his hands on Glam's shoulders. They were shaking. Finally, he pulled away and stood from the bed. "I—I'm sorry, Glam. I didn't have any other choice." "Ches?" Glam turned in the direction of his departing voice. But he was already gone, the metal door clanging shut behind him. And Glam was left in darkness.